


what i need is a you intervention

by coffeesuperhero



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: bsg_pornbattle, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-01
Updated: 2009-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:45:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeesuperhero/pseuds/coffeesuperhero





	what i need is a you intervention

Laura paces the inner perimeter of her makeshift school tent with measured grace, hands clasped behind her back. She's had trouble sleeping since she lost the election, but tonight more than ever she wishes she had stayed on the ships, stayed on Galactica, stayed with Bill. She's keyed up, she's tense, and now that she's finally alone with her thoughts she realizes that it isn't the end of the world, or the beginning of this one, that has her snapping at Tory for no reason, correcting the children too harshly.

She drops into her chair at the front of the room, head propped on one tired hand. The thought that sex is an answer should bother her, should offend her sense of independence, but it doesn't, because she knows it's true. Her body hasn't felt the rush of release, hasn't bathed in endorphins and sweat and tangled sheets, in far too long.

Laura doesn't want to address how long it's been. She just wants the ache to go away, she wants the tension in her muscles to ease, she wants an outlet for her fear and her anger and her frustration.

She doesn't know what it is about solid ground that makes taking matters into her own hands feel like an acquiescence, like a surrender, like an acceptance of her own vulnerability and loneliness, but it does, and so she's put this off for far too long, thinking of lesson plans and parent-teacher conferences and after-school programs, anything to distract herself, to put this off so that she doesn't have to accept that this may be it, and she may be alone, and it may be just her hands for the rest of her life.

Laura prefers, for tonight at least, to think about Bill's hands. She wants his fingers on her chest, unbuttoning her shirt, lingering at the curve of her breasts, thumbs hovering over nipples that ache for his touch. Her own fingers slide over her shirt, across her breasts, pressing, teasing. Her fingers are his, now, curling under her bra, circling her nipples until she moans, then tracing a slow line down her abdomen to the hem of her skirt. "Gods," she says, fingers caressing her thighs, happily losing herself to the fantasy of Bill, here, kneeling in front of her chair, kissing her knees, pushing her skirt up, pulling her panties down, and pressing his tongue against her, the low rumble of his voice vibrating against her, little ripples of pleasure pulsing down her thighs, up the curve of her spine. It only takes one more swirl of her fingers against her throbbing clit before she forgets that she is alone, that it's really her fingers, not Bill's tongue, sliding, circling, licking, tasting, pushing, until she can feel the blood rushing back to her brain, curling her toes, drawing a long low moan from her lips.

She leans against the back of her chair, chest heaving, fingers still pressed between her thighs, the corners of her mouth twitching up into the beginning of a smile. She sighs, stands, stretches, and as her heartbeat slows back down to sure and steady, she recognizes the soft afterglow of temporary peace, and she thinks, for now, it will be enough.


End file.
